


Fix You

by Kuukkeli



Series: Am I a monster? [2]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, MTMTE, sparkeater!Drift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 19:44:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12306396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kuukkeli/pseuds/Kuukkeli
Summary: Lights will guide you homeAnd ignite your bonesAnd I will try to fix you





	Fix You

**Author's Note:**

> Dayum. I actually finished this fic and I'm quite happy how it turned out. I might do some editing if I find anything worth editing.

Ratchet somehow managed to convince the commanding line to not to kick Drift out. That resulted that Drift was on his responsibility. And the medic was fine with that. Though, Drift was to be kept in his hab suite at all times and not to be let out without supervision.

Even as a sparkeater, Drift’s personality hadn’t changed pretty much at all. He still was cuddly as ever – if not even cuddlier – and he enjoyed Ratchet’s company. One of his biggest joys was to rest his head on the older mech’s lap whenever given the chance and demand pettings. He didn’t talk, though, as his vocalizer had broken during his transformation so he relied on body language and other noises he could utter. And so far, Ratchet had understood him just fine. On Ratchet’s request, First Aid had been working on building a new vocalizer for him.

His appearance experienced the most drastic changes. Yes, he still sported those striking finials as before and his waist-to-hip ratio had remained the same but he had gained four spiny tentacles coming out of his back, his armor was much pointier and sharper-looking, his optics were yellow and lively and he was more gray than white and red. His posture was different, too. He stood up hunched and his legs resembled Whirl’s, only exception was that they were thicker and the feet had sharp claws.

Ratchet had also noticed that Drift was more flexible than before as he had witnessed couple of times by walking in on him licking his own array with his long tongue, head between his legs, the other leg hoisted up. Those moments had been... conflicting to the older mech. He couldn’t decide whether to look away in slight disgust because of the lewd sight or watch and be impressed by the creature’s flexibility. More often than not, his processor told him to go away and let Drift be. That thing wasn’t the same mech he once knew... and at the same time it was.

Be it this or that, Ratchet had asked Rodimus and Megatron to spare Drift and now he would help and love Drift the best he could.

\----

Ratchet woke up to a whimper and a nudge to his side. He opened his optics and his gaze fell on a sparkeater flat on his front, his yellow, big, pleading optics staring back, his tentacles lashing behind him restlessly. The white finials were pulled back. Huh, that was either new or Ratchet hadn’t noticed before; Drift’s finials moved according to his mood. And right now, his mood was... submissive? Begging?

Then there was an unpleasant tug in his spark. Oh, right. Drift was hungry. Ratchet had picked up the signals of his companion being in need of feeding whenever he was close and the medic’s spark would feel like someone had put a hook on it and pull it gently but insistently. So, he got up and walked to the small refrigerator he was granted upon taking Drift into his care and took out a globe-shaped object filled with concentrated spark energy substitute and came back to the berth where the sparkeater waited eagerly.

The red and white mech was grateful for Perceptor and Brainstorm for coming up with spark energy substitute so Drift wouldn’t have to go hunt for sparks. Sitting down on the edge of the berth, Ratchet turned to face the other, his charge staring at the glowing ball with a hungry look, drool dripping from his lips.

Deciding this would be a good opportunity for some basic training, Ratchet lifted a single finger, gaining Drift’s attention. “Down”, he said and pointed at the floor.

The sparkeater tilted his head to the right a little, chirping questioningly.

The medic snapped his fingers and this time the message hit home and Drift crawled down from the berth and sat in front of the other mech, his optics back on his breakfast.

Ratchet cracked the hard, protective shell in half and took off the top part and held the ball on his palm, giving Drift the permission to eat. The creature’s mouth split from audio to audio and the ball disappeared to his gaping mouth. He swallowed and his throat bulged as the ball went down.

“Good boy.”

He had no idea where that praise came from and it was out of Ratchet’s mouth before he could stop himself. Drift didn’t seem to mind as he nuzzled the open hand, purring, licking any remnants of that delicious energon.

Yeah, he hadn’t changed at all. And Ratchet was grateful for that.

\----

Ratchet was on duty shift and Drift was left home alone. He was bored to death and lying on the berth certainly didn’t help. He got up and went to the door and tried if it’d open for him. No such luck.

Drift sauntered around the hab suite until he noticed the ventilation hatch above the couch. He hopped on the couch and ripped the hatch off the wall, climbing in. His claws squealed against the metal in attempt to get a grip but eventually there was a seam and he pulled himself in.

This was new and exciting! Drift had never been inside the ventilation system and the ducts were wide enough for him to move. Now he understood Skids. Crawling forwards, without a specific destination, the sparkeater wandered in the ducts for quite some time before he wanted out. He found another hatch and kicked it off and jumped out on a corridor.

The corridor turned left and right and Drift took off to the left. Then things got interesting. The corridor stretched in front of him long and straight. He had been bored but not anymore as he bolted and galloped. It felt good to run again and stretch out his legs.

The corridor came to an end, dividing into two directions and unluckily, Fortress Maximus walked behind the corner. Drift didn’t have time to change his direction or stop and collided into the large mech, bouncing backwards and falling on his back.

The blue mech wasn’t pleased at all to see the sparkeater roaming free without supervision and pinned the smaller mech to the floor with his huge foot. He commed Ratchet about his freely roaming creature. “Your creature is on the loose in the corridors! Come claim it immediately or I won’t answer the consequences!” Fortress Maximus bellowed, not giving a flying fuck about Drift who was whimpering and squirming under his massive foot.

Ratchet rushed to the scene as fast as he could and was surprised by the sight; furious Fortress Maximus and Drift begging for help in the middle of the corridor.

“Get off of him”, the medic hissed and when the larger mech lifted his foot, Drift scrambled up on all fours and crawled to Ratchet, chittering apologetically.

Without saying any more than that, the red and white mech grabbed Drift from his tentacles and nearly dragged him away while the sparkeater whined pathetically, clearly struggling against Ratchet.

Finally home – fortunately they didn’t meet anyone, especially Ultra Magnus – and Ratchet pushed Drift in and went to a cabinet. The sparkeater slinked off to the corner with his tentacles tugged between his legs; he knew he did wrong and for that he was about to be punished. The medic came back, a collar in his hand. But the collar wasn’t any collar, no. It was made by Perceptor on Ultra Magnus’ request. With that on, Drift couldn’t leave the hab suite without Ratchet. If he tried, the collar would give him a nasty zap.

Ratchet thought the thing was cruel and shouldn’t be used on anybody ¬– not even on a sparkeater – but he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t risk the safety of the crew. What if he just let Drift stride around the ship and the creature got hungry all of a sudden?

Again, Drift looked at Ratchet with those pleading optics. He slumped on his side, displaying his belly, whimpering. _Please, Ratchet, don’t put that on me. I’ll be good from now on. I promise!_

“I’m sorry, Drift. I hate this situation myself, too, but this is for the best of us all”, Ratchet said regretfully and fastened the collar around Drift’s neck.

As the collar was secured, it activated and little blue lights embedded into it lit up with a quiet, high-pitched hum.

Drift felt humiliated and miserable and he turned his back to Ratchet and the whole room, curling up on the floor, his tentacles coiling around his body. The older mech watched sadly as Drift ignored him completely. He even growled when Ratchet touched his shoulder, the tentacles twitching menacingly.

Ratchet knew better than taunt the upset sparkeater further and got up to leave to continue his duty shift reluctantly.

\----

The following morning wasn’t much easier; Ratchet woke up alone, without the certain ambulatory heater he was used to have either next to or on top of him. No, this time, as he glanced around the room, he noticed that Drift was still curled up on the floor in the exact same corner he had chosen yesterday, determined to ignore the surrounding world.

The medic got up with a grunt and walked to the fridge in order to feed Drift. The sparkeater’s finials twitched to the direction of the sound ¬– so, he was awake, already. Ratchet wondered if he had recharged at all.

Taking Drift’s meal out, Ratchet then came to Drift, crouching down and broke the protective plastic shell off. “Here’s your breakfast”, he said and offered the ball.

Drift didn’t lift his head to watch, there wasn’t even a flinch of a tentacle at the mention of breakfast. Surely he was hungry as he wasn’t fed last evening. A pathetic growl rumbled his engine as he kept ignoring Ratchet, wanting to be left alone.

But the red and white mech didn’t leave him. Ratchet insisted that Drift ate because if he went too long without the spark energy substitute Drift would go on a rampage and feed on the sparks of the crew. And that would end up Drift being killed and jettisoned out the airlock. So, the medic left the sparkeater’s breakfast near him and got up; he had a morning shift to tackle.

Drift was left alone again. Hunger slithered around in his empty tank but still he refused to eat the offered substitute. Eventually, the hunger became overwhelming and he uncurled himself from the tight ball and swallowed the globe, purring faintly as the hunger faded away slowly. But the miserable feeling didn’t go away and he uttered a whimper.

Getting up, Drift crawled under Ratchet’s berth and curled up again, determined to stay there for the rest of the day.

\----

Later that day, Ratchet returned to his hab suite and called for Drift. When he got no answer and he didn’t see the sparkeater anywhere, his spark lurched with anxiety.

But then he heard a deep huff coming from under his berth and he came to the berth and knelt down to see Drift glaring back at him with his blazing yellow optics. The sight startled the medic but he didn’t show his reaction – he merely grunted and sighed. He got up, his knees cracking, and stretched. He was getting tired of this. He was getting tired of not being able to hold Drift. He was getting tired of always having to be careful. He was getting tired of not being able live his life normally. He cursed the whole damn situation to the lowest point of Pit.

As if sensing Ratchet’s mood, Drift made a noise that was a mixture between a questioning chirp and an apologetic whimper. The older mech sat on the edge of the berth and buried his face into his hands, elbows propped on his knees. A heavy sigh escaped his body, his shoulders slumping.

After a long moment, he felt a careful nudge on his knee and blue optics opened to look at a pair of yellow ones.

“I hate this”, Ratchet whispered, “I hate this all.”

Drift chirred quietly and rested his chin on the older mech’s thigh.

The medic cupped the sparkeater’s face in his hands and looked it in the optics, “I promise I’ll find a way to fix this. I promise I’ll find a way to fix _you_ ”, he said, determination strong both in his voice and field.

Drift closed his optics and sighed. _It won’t be that easy, Ratchet. I wish it was._

\----

The day arrived when the _Lost Light_ had to make berth and resupply its storages. That meant a shore leave for the whole crew.

Well, _almost_ the whole crew.

Ratchet didn’t want to leave Drift alone but the situation didn’t give him any options. He had to go to get more proper medical supplies and in order to get the best equipment, he had to do it himself with the help from Ambulon and First Aid.

“I try to be quick”, he said to the sparkeater who was sitting in the middle of the room with its head tilted slightly to the side. With that, Ratchet opened the door and off he was.

Once the door closed behind the red and white mech, Drift was left alone.

With his thoughts.

And he didn’t like it. One. Bit.

_You’re a monster._

_Yes, I am._

_Nobody wants you here._

_You’re right._

_You’re better off gone._

It’d be less trouble for the crew – and Ratchet – if he just... disappeared. That’d be for the best. He didn’t want to hurt anybody. Ratchet would be better off without him causing harm.

With a growl, Drift started trying to rip the collar off.

The collar dug into his neck as he struggled to break it and with the help of one of his tentacles, it finally came off. His neck was bleeding a bit but it was nothing compared to have the damn thing off. Once free, he climbed in the ventilation system like he had earlier and tried to find his way out of the ship.

It took him nearly three hours of crawling in the ducts, occasionally peeking in the corridors for a clear path and slinking through the ship to eventually bolt out and disappear to the shadows of the city’s dark alleys.

Some time later, the crew came back with supplies and a merry weather. Ratchet headed towards the medbay to drop off the medical supplies and equipment and was dismissed by First Aid.

“Take the rest of the day easy” were the junior medic’s exact words.

The ship was getting ready for departure when Ratchet arrived at his and Drift’s shared hab suite. He keyed in the code for the door. He was expecting for the sparkeater to greet him at the door with lots of chattering and wagging tentacles but he stepped into a quiet hab suite.

“Drift?”

No reply.

“Drift?”

Nothing.

“Drift?!”

...

Dread started taking place in Ratchet’s spark as he looked for his charge.

Under the berth? No.

In the wash rack? No.

Kitchen? No.

Living room? No.

Berthroom again? No.

There were no signs of Drift.

But there was the broken collar on the floor.

_**Fuck.** _

Ratchet contacted Megatron.

“Come on! Answer, dammit!”

Finally, what felt like an eternity, Megatron answered on his side of the comm link.

_::What is it, Ratchet?::_

“I can’t find Drift.”

_::What do you mean, you can’t find him?::_

“I mean exactly that. I can’t find him in our hab suite. All I found was the collar.”

Ratchet flinched as Megatron hung up immediately and the next thing he heard was his voice through the ship’s PA system.

_“Attention, crew. The sparkeater is on the loose. I repeat, the sparkeater is on the loose. Fire at will, kill on sight.”_

No...

Such a simple order had the whole ship searching for a loose sparkeater and end its days for good. Some with glee and excitement, some... let’s say, not so much. But it was all in vain; the creature was long gone and nowhere to be found.

The moment of departure was near and Ratchet pleaded for Rodimus and Megatron for a delay but the tight schedule of the dock didn’t give any leeway. And there was no chance for him to stay behind – who would go look for such a creature as a sparkeater?

It didn’t deserve to live.

Ratchet thought otherwise. That “creature” was still Drift. But then the ship would be left without a CMO for First Aid wasn’t ready for such a responsibility yet.

Ratchet didn’t have a choice. It broke his spark into million pieces. He had promised Drift he’d fix things. He had promised he’d find a way to fix his Conjux. He was sparkbroken and it hurt him perhaps more than anything.

Outside, on some alley, a pair of yellow optics followed as the _Lost Light_ took off. A quiet, lonely whimper echoed in the dark. On that ship, a certain precious mech wouldn’t see his other half ever again.


End file.
